


He Who Lost the Crown

by sasstasticmad



Series: She Who Would Be Queen [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Babies, Banter, Consensual, Cousins, Drunk Phasma, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Imprisonment, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasstasticmad/pseuds/sasstasticmad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Imperial Highness, Kylo Ren, does not quite know what to think about the woman he used to know as a girl, the woman that will soon become his bride. </p><p>When he is with her, he can hardly think at all.</p><p>A historical AU and companion piece to She Who Would Be Queen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lady Rey

**Author's Note:**

> The events before, during, and after "She Who Would Be Queen" from the perspective of His Imperial Highness, Kylo Ren. Not quite a full retelling but not quite a sequel to the work that started it all. 
> 
> The wonderful reception to SWWBQ was beyond my wildest dreams and I can't bear to leave our Imperial/Historical AU just yet. As always, I greatly appreciate any feedback you care to leave whether it means kudos, bookmarks, comments (the lights of my life), or just reading more about our favorite crown prince. 
> 
> Bug me on tumblr-mygrandmathinksimsassy. I'll do my best to answer questions there as well

The court has been at Takodana for less than a day when Kylo is given the news he knew would always come.

\--

The Emperor summons him just before dinner, smiling down from his throne as he bows down before him.

“My dear boy,” the Emperor says, beckoning his heir to rise up to his full height. He sounds almost like a father and Kylo’s chest can’t help but swell with pride. “I believe I owe you my congratulations.”

“Regarding what, Your Imperial Majesty?” Kylo asks.

He has felt utterly useless since the court began their progress from Coruscant, his limbs nearly about to fall from off from inactivity. He does not thrive in times of quiet and he misses the thrill of the conquest with an urgency that makes him ache. 

“Your impending nuptials,” His Imperial Majesty says. “Your bride will be in Takodana within the fortnight. I dare say that she will make quite the addition to the Imperial family.”

A smile fills the Emperor’s face as if the wedding bells that are soon to ring will be tolling on his behalf.

The news that he is to be married comes as no surprise and he cannot feel his own expression change in the slightest. All rulers need their heirs. Kylo is to be no different than those that came before him. 

He will marry and give the Empire a son. He will do his duty and make the Emperor proud.

Kylo bows his head again, asking a question to which he already knows the answer.

“May I ask who you have selected, Your Imperial Majesty?”

“Your _dearly departed_ uncle has a daughter of the appropriate age and breeding,” Emperor Snoke says. “She has your grandfather’s blood, just as you. She will be the perfect vessel for his line to continue. 

“I am sure she will be,” he replies with a curt nod of his head. The choice of bride is unsurprising, practical if not geographically convenient. Perhaps he has always expected his cousin’s name to pass the Emperor’s lips with such an announcement was made. Perhaps he has always known.

The Emperor insists that he devote the day’s remaining hours to his training and it is the biggest relief in the world to follow orders. The tedium of the court can disappear and he can focus on cultivating the gifts that had once belonged to his grandfather, the same gifts that will make his Empire even greater.

He is himself when he is in the armory, not a man, but steel and bone and strength. He doesn’t have to think about what to do; he just does, his limbs already remembering the pleasure of the battlefield in the comfort of the palace walls.

The unlucky guards who have been selected for the evening’s work look worse for wear when he has finished with them but they are of little consequence. He would be a terrible commander if he could not fell his foes himself.

Either way, they should be honored to participate in such an important ritual. They should be proud to be part of something even greater than themselves. 

\--

When he returns to his chambers, it is without the decadence of dinner in his stomach. He is stronger when he isn’t weighed down by gluttony and he can almost see the gods listening to his nightly devotions.

He prays, as he always does, for His Imperial Majesty and the dream of a thousand year Empire. But tonight as he kneels on the floor of his apartments, he offers up an additional prayer for the girl who will become his bride. 

Truth be told, he has not often thought of the cousin who had been his childhood playmate. Rey was a child last he saw her but so was he; a different boy with a different name.

He remembers how his mother’s face would light up when his uncle’s carriage would arrive, the radiant smile she only ever seemed to wear when she got to spoil the daughter he knew she always wanted. His cousin could do what she pleased whenever she came to Naberrie and she always had. She goaded him to follow her on all sorts of misguided adventures to the kitchens and the library, always barking at him to catch up whenever she ran down the halls as fast as she could.

She had been brave and she had been adored, the two things the boy called Ben Solo could never quite seem to be.

He wonders if she will still be bossy now that she is no longer a girl. As he falls asleep, he wonders if she will be happy to become his wife.

\-- 

It is three weeks later when the day has come to claim his bride.

The Emperor’s carriage is prepared for him and he finds his way inside. There’s scarcely enough room for his legs but the lack of space is an inconvenience he has long since grown accustomed to since coming of age. 

He is uncomfortable but the addition of General Hux is more than enough to make him forget all about his cramped legs. The man really does have quite a gift for annoyance.

The General insists on filling the journey with stilted conversation, eager to bask in the Imperial recognition he so obviously craves. 

“It’s a thrill to be here, Your Imperial Highness,” Hux tells him. “It’s an honor to serve you and the Emperor in this way.”

Kylo says nothing in response and he can almost hear the wheels in Hux’s brain struggle as he attempts to keep their one-side conversation alive.

“By all accounts, your intended is a rather accomplished young lady, Your Imperial Highness,” Hux says as the forest begins to grow thicker. “The Emperor himself was quite pleased by the reports of her intelligence.”

General Hux, smiling like the pair of them happen to be the dearest of friends, is insufferable. He seems to be under the delusion that they are kindred spirits, two men in the prime of their youth, united in their devotion to the wisdom of His Imperial Majesty. Correcting this misconception is perhaps the most enjoyable thing he has done since his betrothal was announced. 

“You might need to temper your enthusiasm, Hux,” he replies. “I’ll be marrying the girl, not you.”

“I was merely trying to pay your intended a compliment, one that the Emperor himself is quick to give her,” Hux says, his pompous voice hurried and almost meek. “I did not mean to offend, Ren.”

Hux says nothing after that and it is a mercy to them both. They sit in silence until the General’s camp pulls into view, the bustle of the men filling the air with something more than an uneasy tension. 

They soon come to a stop, Hux opening the carriage door nearly as soon as the wheels stop turning. 

General Hux insists on fetching his betrothed for him, eager to be the face of Emperor Snoke’s glorious kingdom for the woman who will one day bear its future king. Kylo agrees without thinking about it, the more selfish part of him glad that even he will seem pleasant in comparison to Hux’s obnoxious countenance. 

After dealing with Hux, she will be relieved to see him once she arrives. She will be glad to be his.

\--

Hux returns after what seems like too long and the carriage door opens once more.

It is his cue to enter the fray and he does, bowing before the girl who will be his wife while Hux makes a fool of himself trying to list all of his titles. 

After an awkward pause, his betrothed curtseys, her posture enviable even if she can barely look at him.

He had expected to see Rey smile but his betrothed trembles even without a chill in the air. He realizes now that even the balmy woods of Takodana must be brisk to a girl accustomed to life in Jakku but that does not explain the apprehension on her face.

Kylo knows very little about the desert kingdom his future wife has spent her formative years. It is too dull of a place to be worthy of notice, all sand and ruin, and he has never been more grateful that His Imperial Majesty did not force him to journey to such a forsaken place in hopes of collecting his bride.

There was a time when he was a boy that a journey to a strange, new land would have been the greatest of adventures. Any such journeys he now makes are merely inconveniences, tasks to be handled quickly and efficiently in hopes of seeking the Emperor’s guidance once more.

But he's heard the women in Jakku barely cover themselves, that even the noblest lady wears less than the most depraved Coruscant whore. An image of his betrothed clad only in the garb of a harem girl, her breasts and legs almost visible through sheer silks, floods through his head and it is not as unpleasant one. 

She is pretty, the girl who is to be wife. He likes the scattered dots strewn on the delicate lines of her face and the fire that burns beneath her hazel eyes. He likes even more the promise of a fine body beneath the faded orange gown she wears even if he doesn't quite like the color. It seems like some sort of misguided rebellion but he can only think of how she'd look even more striking in red.

He would have done his duty regardless but it will not be a hardship to keep to her bed. 

There's some fight about her guard's dog, one that he barely pays attention to at all. The dog is more of a rat than anything-proper dogs were meant for hunting and tracking, not decoration- and his betrothed beseeches him to allow the animal in their carriage.

It is no burden to acquiesce. Perhaps now she will be less afraid. Perhaps now she will seek him willingly. 

\--

He makes the mistake of trying to be witty once Hux has fallen asleep. She snarls in response, determined to find fault with him before they’ve even shared an adulthood conversation, and all promise of decorum vanishes entirely.

Rey seems so eager to bait him, to make him into the horror she must find him to be, and it is the easiest thing in the world to meet her expectations. But it seems even her insistence on being right has its limits. They are at an impasse, what an unsuspecting bystander might deem a truce, when she insists on taunting him once more.

“What if I don’t want to be amicable?”

With her brows raised and pouting lips, she looks cross in the same way her younger self had and he’s almost surprised that she doesn’t stomp her foot against the carriage floor. Her eyes are more alive now and she seems more comfortable even if that comfort is not at all shaped by his attempts at civility.

She had been pretty when she had trembled. She is radiant when she demands.

“I didn’t realize I was marrying a child,” Kylo says. He should be exasperated but her scowl only makes him want to bask in her presence for even longer. “By all accounts, you’re supposed to be quite clever.”

His body falls helplessly toward her and he is pleased to see that she doesn’t recoil as he thought she would.

She is so close to him now and he can see every freckle that dots her face, can gaze at her to his heart’s content. There are so many things he wants to do to her, that he might very well have the opportunity to do, and his burgeoning want betrays him.

“I could put you over my knee and _make_ you be amicable,” he says like the fool he has always known himself to be. “Will I need to do that, Rey?”

The prospect of touching her in such a way is an enticing one and he doubts another man could have resisted staring at the skin just begging to be marked. He wants to worship the blush on her cheeks. He wants to bite the swanlike flesh of her neck.

It might just be his delusion that makes him see it but she stares right back at him. Rey doesn’t look angry anymore but he knows too little of women to say what the curious expression on her face truly means, whether it is fascination or fear that lets her gaze linger.

She is close and he wants her. He is close and she must loathe him.

All too soon, the carriage jostles and Hux returns to the land of the living.

He hates the general for interrupting. He hates himself more for seeing delusions.

\--

Rey stares at him for the rest of the ride, turning her head like a scared little mouse every time he manages to catch her eye. She had claimed not to hate him but despite her claims, disgust rests plainly on her face.

Despite his better judgment, he hopes her revulsion is focused on the unending chatter that Hux has decided to regale them with. Despite his better judgment, he wants her admiration

The dog does not share his mistress’ misgivings. It rests contentedly against his leg and were it not for the fine leather of his boots, he is sure the creature’s drool would have already soaked through to the skin.

Without even intending to, he finds himself ruffling the dog between its ill-kempt ears, petting it in the same rough and tumble way his mother’s pet had enjoyed while he was a child. The dog looks utterly thrilled and it is soothing in a way to win something over so easily, to make something happy just by having a warm pair of hands.

His intended smiles when the dog lets out a contented groan, her entire countenance illuminated by the stolen delight on her face. He has half a mind to return the gesture when Rey notices him watching her. The grin fades quickly into the same despondent look she has worn since their introduction and she is the picture of the condemned once more.

\--

The closer they get to the great hall, the more sullen she looks. It is clear, even to him, that nothing he says will endear himself to her.

By the time His Imperial Majesty is able to make his own determinations, he can almost hear the thoughts in her mind goading her to run.

The Emperor seems pleased with the bride he has selected, perhaps too pleased if the look in his eyes is any indication. There is something that goes beyond pride in his face, something hungry and determined, one that makes Kylo’s stomach pang with something that he can’t remember having ever experienced.

He blames the distaste on his betrothed’s lack of enthusiasm for the entire enterprise, doing his best to put it out of mind when the Emperor finally acknowledges him. Without His Imperial Majesty, none of this would have been possible.

Without his Imperial Majesty, he would not be the man he had been so desperate to become.

\-- 

Once the Emperor has had his fill of niceties, his betrothed is quick to follow him into the hall. Her sullen expression has turned to obvious disgust that the painful silence does little to alleviate. 

“Did he live up to your expectations?” 

It is a question, nothing more and nothing less, but Rey treats it like the foulest oath. 

“He’s disgusting… I’m not a cow that’s ready to go to market.” His intended is barely speaking above a whisper but her revulsion is perfectly clear. “He had no right…”

She is ten years older than their last meeting but he had forgotten how truly young she was. She did not yet realize power meant having every right.

“You know just as well as I do that he can do whatever he wants.”

Rey looks up at him now with her eyes narrowed, like she is on the precipice of challenging him. She is mad at something that he cannot control but it will be him that bears the brunt of her fury. 

Perhaps she had wanted him to lie, to spare her feelings. It is a task for which he is utterly incapable and it almost makes him happy to tell her the obvious truth.

“He clearly thought you were fetching,” he says. “Be glad he showed restraint, he could have just lifted your skirts right there and made an heir himself.”

“Don’t be vile,” she snaps at him. Her voice is as bossy as it ever was during their childhood and he remembers with little hesitation all of the times he was not quite so fond of his ‘perfect’ cousin. 

She will hate him, no matter what he does. He might as well do whatever he likes.

“My apologies, my dearest betrothed. Should I have challenged him to a duel for your honor?” 

He bows almost as lowly as Hux and even he can hear the insincerity in his voice. 

Even in her discomfort, she had stood so close to him when they had left the hall. There is a odd sort of feeling in his chest that arises when she increases their distance and it is not one he likes. 

“You could have done something,” she shouts, all anger and loathing. “You just stood there. I’m to be your wife. You could at least ensure that men don’t talk to me like I’m in a brothel.”

Part of him, the primitive part that even now wants to mark her, is delighted that she would refer to herself as his. The more rational side cannot excuse her lack of deference. It will get her killed if she isn’t careful. Leagues of men have died for less.

“The Emperor is God himself,” he says, grateful that nobody but he was there to hear her blasphemy. “If you are to be _my_ wife, it would be good for you to remember what you’re marrying into.” 

Her retort comes quickly just as he imagined it would.

“If you are to be my husband. It would be good for you to remember that my blood is just as important as yours,” Rey says. “I deserve the Emperor’s respect and yours!”

Pride oozes from her voice and were she a man, he would be expecting an invitation to duel. She stares at him like she has won some great battle and he wonders whether a life of chastity would be preferable to the way her temper affects him so.

He leaves before he does something he might regret. It is the hardest thing he has done in ages not to look at her before he goes.

 


	2. Dreams and Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has done nothing more than insult him and yet Kylo Ren dreams of her still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away by the lovely reception the first chapter was met with. All of you are incredibly wonderful and I'm so lucky that you're all just as eager as I am to delve deeper into Kylo's mind. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the feedback-the wonderful comments, the kudos, bookmarks, and all of the reads/re-reads. They really do mean the world to me. 
> 
> Bug me on tumblr- mygrandmathinksimsassy. I love hearing back from readers!
> 
> Enjoy!

He dreams of her that night. He rarely dreams, often too tired from His Imperial Majesty’s tutelage to do little more than sleep as soon as his body hits the pillow, but tonight he dreams of the girl who will become his wife.

It is his betrothed that he sees, but it is not quite her. Her lips are painted a deep red, her hair hanging like an exquisite curtain past her bare shoulders. Rey is clad in nothing except a smile but she strides towards him with an almost arrogance, her pride laid bare as she cups his face between her hands.

She bites his lips when she kisses him and he tastes the copper of his blood filling his mouth. Her nails dig into his flesh and he nearly dies from how good it feels to let her consume him.

When he wakes, his cock is achingly hard. There is a certain weakness that comes with indulging in the sins of the flesh but it is one that he cannot fight any longer.

Kylo takes himself in hand, using the same practiced motion that he had perfected during his youth. It feels good, but not good enough, and he can’t help but think of a smaller, tanned hand being wrapped around his own.

He thinks of Rey, the temptress from his vision and yet he cannot forget the stubborn girl who could barely look at him from across the carriage. She is cross at him even in her mind, her head held high with misguided pride as he does his best to ignore her glare.

When he spills far too quickly on his fingers and stomach, it is not clear which one brought him to his release.

\--

It is easy enough to avoid Rey. The court’s outpost at Andui is barely half the size of the palace in Coruscant but there is ample room to hide from the parade of attendants that surrounds his betrothed at every waking moment. Their chatter always looms before them; a warning beacon to those might otherwise seek to flee from their brightest star. 

On the days where he is at his weakest, he does his best to steal glimpses of her, always regretting it when he does.

She looks almost every bit the Imperial lady now, wearing the brilliant colors that suit her far better than the faded gown she had worn in their first meeting. She often looks sullen, clearly unamused by the flighty women who surround her, but there are times when he can see a fine smile dart onto her lips. He doesn’t know the cause of her happiness. He knows only that it cannot be him. 

He is always dedicated to his training, eager to focus on the one thing in his life he has any control over, but it is on those days that he does not stop until his knuckles are about to bleed. Every waking moment is dedicated to the Emperor’s cause and there is a certain satisfaction that comes with falling asleep only when he cannot stand to be awake.

He dreams of Rey more often than not. No amount of training seems to make her disappear.

\--

His marriage draws nearer but the impending preparations are of little consequence. It hardly matters to him what dignitaries are allowed the honor of attending or what wines will be served. The most important duties will come after he has made his promises before the gods and it is those that he will concern himself with when the time comes.

He sups with the Emperor each night, always hopeful that he will be the only one selected for the privilege. There are nights where Hux is allowed the honor of the Emperor’s table, nights that seem to grow more frequent in number the longer they stay in Takodana.

But tonight it is only the Captain who joins their table; her attempts at innuendo grating but far preferable to any mindless chatter General Hux would have forced them all to endure.

He arrives to His Imperial Majesty’s chambers nearly as soon as the sun sets, disappointed to find Phasma waiting with entirely too much wine. As is his custom, the Emperor is delayed, likely consumed with matters that Kylo will never understand.

The Emperor, anointed by the gods themselves, waits for no man but now he is forced to wait for the Emperor.

He sits in the chair across from the Captain, focusing on the roar of the fire and the taste of his wine as he attempts to ignore the deliberate gaze of an overrated courtesan. It is a strange thing to be so observed and he misses the glorious time when she did not dare to mock him so.

She acts as she pleases now. She acts like they are equals.

\--

“What do you think of your lady love?” Phasma asks when the silence grows too vexing. “Are you absolutely smitten?”

“My betrothed was… agreeable last we met,” he replies, choosing his reply carefully. “I am sure we will have a very prosperous marriage.”

He has not talked to Rey since the day she arrived at court and yet she still consumes him. She is somewhere in the palace, doing whatever it is that ladies do to make themselves more accomplished, and everyday he is tempted to find exactly what that entails.

He has no desire to tell the Captain the truth. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve it. 

“A _prosperous_ marriage,” the Captain repeats before rolling her eyes. “You sound just like the Emperor.”

He takes the offering as a compliment, proud to have inherited the same skillful pragmatism. It is clear that this was not the Captain’s intention. 

Phasma takes another sip of her wine and he follows suit, letting the rich flavor flood through his throat. He has tried to outdrink the Captain since he was sixteen. It is more than likely that tonight will not be the night he manages to succeed.

“You should try and woo her,” Phasma says after a moment. Some of her wine sloshes out of her glass but she hardly looks bothered. “Young ladies like romance.”

“You are neither,” Kylo says. “How would you know?”

The Captain grins, woefully unoffended his insult. If anything, she looks amused.

 “Years of study,” she replies. She exchanges for her empty glass for tea, taking a leisurely sip before speaking again. “I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know your bride-to-be quite well. She is rather delightful… You’re really quite the lucky man.”

“Has she asked about me?”

The question leaves his mouth before he can restrain it and Phasma waggles her eyebrows like the infuriating woman he has always known her to be.

“Perhaps,” the Captain says. She takes another sip from her teacup, drawing it out until he nearly throws his wine against the wall. “Did you want her to?”

He doesn’t reply but it is apparently answer enough.

“I can help arrange a meeting if you’d like,’” Phasma says, sounding impossibly smug. “Help speed the process along for you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Kylo insists but the Captain is greedy in her insistence to be of use.

“Whatever you say, Your Imperial Highness,” she says smugly, like a cat leisurely draining a saucer of milk. “But if you should desire to see her, you might be interested to know that she will be visiting my apartments tomorrow at around three…. It would not be the most loathsome thing in the world to be interrupted even if it meant depriving myself of her rather charming presence.”

“I have no such desire,” he lies. The Emperor has not been so demanding as of late. There should be ample time to stage a meeting. “I hope only for my betrothed’s sake that you are not nearly so vexing when in the company of other women.” 

“She finds me amusing,” the Captain says, an eyebrow raised and face unaffected. “I can only hope for her sake that you are not always so thickheaded.”

The Emperor enters the sitting room and Kylo rises before his annoyance gets the better of him. 

He scarcely pays attention during dinner, almost too preoccupied to savor the rumors that have flitted within the palace walls. The Republic will need to be subdued and yet all he sees when he looks ahead is his future wife retreating far away.

She is in his dreams again that night. He has all but lost count of how many times she has appeared.

\--

He spots her walking down the hall the next afternoon just as Phasma had promised, her head thrown back in laughter as she speaks to her guards.

The younger one, named Finn or something equally forgettable, had once been part of Hux’s number but he looks just as happy as his mistress, far happier than he had ever seemed when he still wore the Empire’s livery on his darkened skin. 

The other one, the Captain Dameron that Hux loathes after only one meeting, is laughing too. His hand finds Rey’s arm in the briefest of touches and Kylo vows right then to cut it off should he ever reach another tainted finger to her skin. She does not recoil from the touch, seeming more at ease than ever now that her guard is near, and he sees only red. 

Rey freezes when she sees him, they all do, and the fear from their first meeting finds its way back into her eyes.

She agrees to walk with him, her voice filled with the courtesies that he has quickly grown to resent. Despite her civility, it is clear to them both that she has no desire to go.

\--

It takes only seconds to offend Rey and though he is not surprised in the slightest by her annoyance, Kylo finds himself fascinated by the speed of her tongue.

She is clever, far wittier than he could ever be, and she is more than aware of it. She seems intent on insulting him, calling him a prat like they were schoolyard rivals and doing her best to dash any hopes of a more amiable relationship going forward.

Rey curtseys to him in a mockery of devotion and he hates the way she uses his title, hates the way it falls from her mouth like gristle and bone. She looks so furious and yet when she speaks next, it is the loveliest thing he has ever heard.

“We’ve only had one meeting in the past ten years,” she says, glaring up at him. “I assumed you were intent on maintaining a healthy separation from the woman who is to be _your_ wife.”

She is trying to be cruel but he is delighted to confirm the suspicions he has only recently hoarded. Rey had indeed thought about him. It seems Phasma had been right after all.

He is far too happy for what the circumstances merit and he laughs before he can restrain himself. This is clearly not the reaction she had anticipated and it is only seconds before she runs down the stairs into the labyrinth that holds the palace’s secrets. 

He does not defend himself. She does not give him the chance. 

\--

She is halfway down the hall when he finally catches up. Even in the darkness, he can see her exasperation but she doesn’t run anymore, not when the air is nearly pitch black.

Rey takes his hand when he offers it, warily, but she takes it nonetheless. It feels small, impossibly soft, even if he can feel her nails just barely grazing against his flesh.

If he had any doubts as to his fascination with her, they are utterly vanished with that first hesitant touch. He is utterly doomed and he has never been more grateful for the darkness as he guides her toward his favorite relic of his grandfather’s reign.

\--

Kylo had found the painting when he was still a boy, barely taller than the girl who stands only steps away and far lonelier than he would ever care to admit.

It had given him comfort in those dark days before he could see His Imperial Majesty for the man he truly was, his feeble mind still tainted by his parent’s misguided pleas. There was a time when he had missed them, where he had dared to weep for his mother and Han in the privacy of his rooms.

It had taken time but His Imperial Majesty had shown him the truth. His parents had been glad to send him away, to reclaim the lives they had in the glory days of the Republic. Even a decade later, he can still see the relief in Han’s eyes when the Emperor’s carriage took him away, can remember hearing his mother’s quick agreement to the terms of his inheritance.

His grandparents, painted in their prime, would never have cast him aside so easily.

He now prefers the image of his grandfather in the height of his reign, a dignified figure looming over the great hall clad in the ebony uniform that Kylo proudly boasts today. But when he was a boy, there was nothing more wondrous than the youthful face of Anakin Skywalker.

He was so young, almost assuredly younger than Kylo is today, but he had looked untouchable, impervious to the frailties of the mortal world he so easily conquered. There was a smile on his face for there was nothing to fear and Kylo had wished desperately for the opportunity to speak to the man who had done the impossible. He prayed to hear his grandfather’s wisdom but settled for the tutelage of his Imperial vessel, Emperor Snoke. The gods spoke through them both, if he sought His Imperial Majesty’s wisdom, it would be as though his grandfather had never joined the heavens.

Though it seemed foolhardy to admit it, his grandfather’s presence had not been the one that had initially quieted his boyhood fears. He had recognized his grandmother Padmé’s face from Naberrie and when he looked at her, it was almost as though he had never left. She was so peaceful, a beacon of light, and he could never imagine her being anything less than glad to see him. 

It had been her love that had fueled his grandfather’s noble goals, had made the gardens in Coruscant grow, and had shaped a dynasty that would change the world. It was the legacy of her devotion that made Kylo want to finish what Grandfather had started. 

It might not be the romance Phasma is so eager to force upon him but it is the one pleasure he has that his future wife might hold equally as dear. 

He hopes selfishly that she will find the portrait as wondrous as he does. He wants nothing more than for Rey to understand everything that they must do together to shape the world into a more perfect place.

\--

Kylo watches her as she sees the painting for the first time, absorbing every detail as her annoyance fades into something resembling awe. Her eyes are fixed on the figure of his grandmother and she stares at Padmé Amidala like the heat of her eyes will recall her back to life. 

Rey looks softer somehow, more like the girl he once knew than the jaded woman she has proven herself to be, and it takes all his restraint to press his lips against her open mouth. 

In the candlelight, she is a vision, and he speaks before the silence inspires him to do something even more stupid than taking her hand. 

“Our grandfather loved her very much,” he tells Rey. He squeezes her hand like he’s done it a million times, watching her as she stares at the grandmother they never knew. “Everything he did to build the Empire. Every battle he won. Every country conquered. All of it was for her.”

‘She didn’t see any of it. She gave him his heirs and died alone, waiting for him to return from the battlefield.”

It is the longest since their reintroduction that she has gone without yelling at him and he can hear the quiet longing in her voice. She mourns an untimely death just as he had and yet she cannot see it for the gift it truly was, cannot see what it did for the world. 

“He never forgot her,” he says as he sets the candle back in its sconce, eager for her to see the reasons behind the gods’ cruelty. Her face is still radiant, bathed in the golden light that surrounds them. “The Coruscant gardens were forged in her memory. He never took another wife or fathered more children.”

He takes a breath and drinks deeply from her gaze.

“Her sacrifice changed the world.”

There is a sad sort of smile on her face when he speaks, almost a pitying look, and he very nearly wretches to think of her holding him in such low esteem.

“I’m sure she would have rather lived,” Rey says not unkindly. “She could have raised her children, could have been more than just a martyr for a cause she didn’t believe in.”

It is a fine enough life that his betrothed describes, one filled with the contented families neither of them had the opportunity to know, but it is not the one that belongs to great men. The gods only punish those who prove their merit. It is what the Emperor has spent years teaching him and he will do everything he can to convince her of what they both need.

“She believed in him. That’s what mattered,” he says, trying his best to be gentle. It is a hard thing to be but he will try for her. He wants to touch more than just the heat of her palm but frightening her seems less than productive.

“It’s what a good queen does. She makes her Emperor better.”

Kylo leans forward, accidentally at first but then it is anything but. She is so close now, so close to being his, and he can only hope that it is compassion and not fear that keeps her at his side. 

“I need you to believe in me, Rey. To believe in us and all we could do.”

It is not a command but a request. Even he can hear the weakness in his voice but he will be weak if that is what she wants.

He is weak enough to close the distance between their mouths, to taste her lips if only for a moment. It is warm and real, a far better thing than the phantom embrace he had dreamt of for weeks.

It is a foolish thing to kiss her, to think that she would want him in this way, but he does it nonetheless. He regrets it as soon as he does it, immediately worried that he has lost her forever. 

She looks surprised when he pulls away, her face contorted in a mixture of shock and something he has not yet had the opportunity to see.

He waits for the slap that never comes, his blood singing when she decides instead to wrap her slender fingers in his hair. 

Rey does not bite him, does not make him bleed like the woman of his enamored imaginings, but kisses him just as eagerly as he had wanted to devour her.

She is eager but unpracticed and he can’t help but moan when he realizes he might be the only man to have feasted on such wondrous lips. Gods willing, he will be the only one who ever gets the chance.

\--

He loses track of time, so focused on how it feels to wrap his arms around her waist, to suck on the unmarked skin high upon her neck. She seems to like it when he does that if the pleased noises that escape from her mouth are any indication and he makes a vow to do it as often as possible from now on.

Kylo is painfully aware of just how hard she’s made him, how good it would feel to claim every part of her, but he manages somehow to restrain himself. It will be better to explore her, bit by bit, to unravel the mysteries still concealed by the hindrance of her gown. It will be better for them both if he does not let this madness consume him.

He understands now why the gods themselves were doomed by mortal women. He does not fault them for an instant if they felt even a fraction of the way he does now.

The candles threaten to flicker out and he finally pulls away before the last remnant of his reason threatens to fade away along with them. He is panting but so is she, her chest pressed tight against him like she wants him to stay.

He wants nothing more but they are both far too important to do what they want.

\-- 

“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

It feels same to assume that she does not hate him as much as she had claimed and yet he still fears the rejection that never comes from her lips.

“Probably making handkerchiefs,” Rey replies and he can hear the laughter in her voice with their foreheads pressed together. “I really don’t have much of a say in how the ladies occupy their time.” 

Her breathing is ragged and he wants to kiss every drop of air from her lungs.

“Can I see you again?”

He is quiet, almost meek, but it is all worth it for the smile he can feel on her face. 

“I’d like that very much,” she says with no hesitation. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find my way back down here.” 

“Not here,” he replies. “I know somewhere else where we can go.”

There exist any number of places in the palace that he wants to explore with her but there is only one where he can guarantee that they will go uninterrupted.

\-- 

When they finally emerge from the depths of the palace, she allows him to take her hand. There is no one lurking in the shadows and yet he can see the nervous way his intended scans the hall before she leaves him with a lingering kiss.

He watches her as she scurries down the hall, hoping desperately to steal one final look.

By the time she turns her head with a smile on her lips, he is well beyond salvation.

 

 


	3. Between the Shelves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looks in the mirror, he sees Rey standing next to him. 
> 
> She looks like she has always been by his side. She looks like she belongs there. 
> 
> Otherwise known as "Library Fun!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all- sorry about the wait!! As many of you know, the school year is in full swing and fic (unfortunately) gets the short end of the stick. That being said, I will be updating this fic as often as is feasible!
> 
> Thanks to all who have left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, or even just read each chapter. Extra special thanks to those who comment- I'm loving the reactions and your questions :)
> 
> Bug me on here or on tumblr (mygrandmathinksimsassy) if you have any questions/concerns about the fic/anything. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Rey is alone when he finds her the next afternoon, her guards and attendants conspicuously absent as she makes her way toward him. The hall is strewn with sunlight yet her eyes shine far brighter than the sun ever could.

She smiles, nervously, but it is a smile nonetheless. Kylo is overcome by the desire to taste her, to worship her with his lips and hands while she’s bathed in this holy light, but is miraculously able to abstain. Though the hall is empty, there is no telling how long it will remain that way. He wants to be the only one to hear her moan. He needs to be the only one who ever sees her weakened by desire.

Kylo offers his arm and she takes it, allowing him to guide her throughout the desolate halls. They pass by a mirror, the iron wrought edges covered in dust and he finds himself oddly fascinated as he glimpses quickly at their reflections. Rey is of a fine height for a woman but he has been the tallest man in most any room since he came of age. It is an agreeable difference and any passerby would have to admit that they look well together. Her crimson gown is bright against the black of his uniform and she carries herself with a grace that he cannot help but envy.

She looks like she has always been by his side. She looks like she belongs there. 

\--

He had selected their hideaway for more nefarious purposes but it pleases Kylo nonetheless to see her happiness as he opens the doors to Andui’s best-kept secret.

The smell of old books instantly transports him to his mother’s library in Naberrie but he buries the thought as soon as it arrives, far more concerned with the future instead of a past that no longer matters.

His betrothed looks delighted. He will focus on that.

“I didn’t even know the palace had a library,” Rey says, looking around with an awestruck look on her face. “None of the ladies were able to tell me when I asked.”

“Given the state of your attendants,” he says, “that is hardly surprising.”

Rey doesn’t respond, abandoning conversation in favor of self-guided exploration. She takes her leave of his arm, discovering as many volumes as she can reach. She runs her fine hands over the spines of the books located on the nearest shelf and he watches happily as she studies the titles of each and every one. 

There must be dozens of volumes just about their grandfather’s conquest. It will take years to devour them all and yet she seems more than up to the task.

“There must be hundreds of books in here,” she exclaims. She turns to face him, her smile brighter than he has ever seen it. It is one unencumbered by restraint. It is one that reaches her eyes

“Thousands,” he replies. “You’re welcome to take as many as you’d like. I doubt anybody will notice they’re gone.”

The thin layer of dust coating every volume painting a picture of the court’s neglect far better than his feeble words ever could. Anything that was worth learning came directly from the Emperor’s council and he can’t remember the last time he stood amidst the shelves, breathing in the scent that reminds him almost of a place that he once called home.

She takes him at his word, snatching several books from the shelves and setting them on the nearest table. He can barely read the titles and when he cranes his head to get a better look, she does her best to hide them but he still manages to sneak a glimpse. 

The topmost is a collection of fairy stories, the same ones he had remembered her enjoying as a child. It is not what he would have selected but she seems more than satisfied with her choice so he doesn’t say a word.

Rey has never smiled so much in his presence before. He will not risk doing anything that might turn her happiness into a well-worn grimace. 

She stops gathering books after a few moments but he still watches her, his heart pounding in his chest as she dares to come even closer to him. It is far too close for politeness and his breathing nearly stops by the time she stands before him.                                                   

There is a silence, heated and oppressive, one far too powerful to break. He loathes it, the lack of certainty and the tension crackling through the air, but there is something exquisite in the wait, something beautiful that comes with staring at what he knows is already so divine. It will make it all the sweeter when he finally gives in and so he only allows himself the pleasure of looking at her until such a time that he has earned what he will never deserve. 

His betrothed, it seems, does not share his patience. She stares back at him, not afraid or meek, but with a look of silent expectation. Her lips are parted like some ancient siren, destined to bring men to their deaths, and the words that leave them taste like the sweetest poison.

“I want you to kiss me.” 

There is no doubt lingering in her voice and he has never followed orders so easily.

He takes her face between his hands, their lips meeting seamlessly as she presses close against him. For all their stilted conversations, there is no awkwardness now, no pleasantries masking ancient grudges.

They are bodies desperate to consume one another, all flesh and bone and heat and wet.

Her fingers dig into the fabric of his training uniform like she is trying to claw it from his skin and she is more like the vision in his dreams than ever before. He is trying to be gentle, to be the kind of man that deserves such affection, and she is making it nearly impossible with the way her body curves into his.

The only morsel of innocence comes from the way she cranes her neck to meet his lips, the delicate way she stands on her toes to better fit against him. There is something inherently endearing about it but it is getting in the way of having her truly as he needs her.

There is an armchair, embroidered and overstuffed, resting by the nearby shelves and it has never beckoned quite so enticingly. He breaks the kiss and she lets out a small noise of displeasure but allows him to guide her nonetheless.

He settles into the chair and then Rey is upon him, a lioness feasting on her prey.

She is astride him now, her skirts hitched up just enough to reveal the lower half of her legs, when she lets her lips meet his neck. Rey bites, hard enough to where there might be a bruise, and he has never wanted anyone more.

His hands, once happily wrapped around her waist, have a mind of their own. They dart closer to her chest and though the silk that covers her is fine, he loathes it for doing its work so well.

Her mouth finds the side of his face and any remaining reason leaves him when she bites his earlobe. All that matters is touching more of her and his fingers graze the underside of her breasts before he can tell himself to stop. 

\--

He freezes, terrified and hard and desperate, and only daring to breathe when her breath is hot against his ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

It is the truth he thinks but she is not nearly as offended as he would have imagined given his lack of propriety.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, pressing a kiss high on his neck like a blessing. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

She does not sound hesitant but perhaps more eager than him and he might very well die right there.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Kylo tells her as he pulls his head away from her embrace. “If it’s not what you want, we can stop.”

He means it, every word, and he studies her face with an intensity he has only ever felt toward the tasks the gods have assigned him.

Her response comes not from words but by the gentle way she guides his hands upward until his hands nearly reach her breasts. The great seductress has temporarily disappeared and though she looks sure, her eyes hold the same hesitation that he feels.

“I mean it,” she admits quietly as she stares right back. “I don’t want you to stop.”

She kisses him again and it is a far different kiss than any they have shared. There is tenderness in it, a quiet reassurance Kylo didn’t even realize he needed, but he finds himself liking her waves of calm just as much as her fire.

He kisses her back in the same gentle way before cupping her breasts as best he can through her bodice. They are perfect, made even more divine by the way she guides every touch. He’s half tempted to rip her gown in two to feel even more of her in his hands, to kiss all of her with the reverence such beauty deserves, but he does not dare press her limits any further.

It would hurt far too much if she told him to stop. If she said yes, it might be enough to strike him dead.

\--

They hide in the library until the sun’s rays have almost vanished. When he can finally bear to be parted from her, her arms are full of the library’s treasures and her hair threatens to fall from its plaits.

Rey promises to see him just as soon as she can, her oaths commingled with the taste of her lips. Though she has scarcely left his arms when she has said it, it might not be soon enough.

\-- 

Kylo makes it a point to see her as often as possible, using any of his limited free time to seek her out whenever he can. The lack of purpose that had made his bones ache has disappeared, inaction converted into an overwhelming need to cleave himself to his bride. There is something far greater than himself that draws him to her and though he had once attempted to ignore it, he gives in now with little resistance.

On the days when the Emperor’s will keeps him from her side, he does his best to compensate in the only ways he knows how. He has no idea what women like and though Rey meets every kiss with a powerful enthusiasm, there is so much that he has yet to discover about the girl whose touch he knows more than her mind.

She is a reader so he sends her books, the ones the Emperor himself had recommended when he was still a child, books that tell a glorious truth the Republic had been so keen to hide. He hides notes between the most illuminating pages, the words that stain the parchment far too inadequate for what he wishes he could tell her in person.

Kylo has become the type of man that he would have readily resented only months ago, a simpering fool, and he tries to rationalize behavior that has nothing to do with reason.

He tells himself a passionate marriage will bring prosperity to the Empire, that he is merely ensuring the longevity of a line that has earned the right to rule for millennia and the loyalty of the woman who will bear his sons. He tells himself it is all for duty’s sake even when his words are long past the point of truth.

\-- 

He likes finding her in the gardens, watching her excitement when she encounters the bounty a wasteland like Jakku could never have. The attendants that accompany her are insufferable, unable to leave a single moment void of chatter, but they disperse quickly enough as soon as he comes near. At least they used to.

It seems now they are far more concerned with matters that are not theirs to worry about, their stares far too curious for his liking as Rey accepts his offer of an escort.

He can hear the giggles from her attendants fading away the more they pull ahead but they never truly leave his ears.

“Why are they laughing?” He can hear the impatience flood through his voice but his betrothed doesn’t seem nearly as aggravated.

“I suppose they’re laughing at you,” Rey says after a moment. She slows and so does he, the pair of them frozen in front of a perfectly manicured rose bush.   “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

There is a teasing lilt in her voice, one that he normally finds intoxicating, but her gaggle of ladies has already put him in a sour mood.

“I am to be your husband,” he insists. “Why would I need to be subtle about wanting to enjoy your company? I thought you liked seeing me?”

She smiles and he can’t help but return the favor. The pink of the roses matches her gown and she is luminous, the goddess of spring herself in the garden of earthly delights.

“I do,” she insists. “But men never walk through the gardens and you’ve joined me everyday this week. You can’t deny that it seems a little odd.”

“I don’t care if they find it odd,” he says without thinking. “I want to be with you. Everyone else can hang for all I care.”

Her cheeks glow with a healthy blush at his words and he wants to drink it from her skin.

“We can finish our turn about the garden then,” Rey says. “We can try subtlety tomorrow.”

 It is a compromise and one he will happily adopt if it means flooding his senses with more of her. He nods his head in agreement and she grins.

She squeezes his hand affectionately as she does and her eyes are bright as she runs like a doe deep into the Emperor’s hedge maze.

It takes no time at all to catch up, to find her hidden beneath the shade of some overgrown fruit tree with a devious grin on her face. It takes even less time for her to snare him completely.

\--

He is doing his best to be careful but caution becomes more difficult each time they are able to find a moment alone. The explorations of Rey’s body have not yet darted below her waist and it is only the promise of their wedding that keeps him from what he so desperately needs.

Kylo settles for marking her anyway he can, drinking in her sighs and feasting on the feel of her curled upon his lap. She will be his wife, his Empress. He will not dishonor her when honor is one of the few things he has left.

\--

He still sups with His Imperial Majesty as often as he is allowed the privilege, grateful for the reminder that life exists beyond his own depravity.

Emperor Snoke asks about the progress of his training and Kylo can’t remember the last time he ventured into the armory. He makes no attempt to hide his lack of fortitude but His Imperial Majesty does not press further, choosing instead to delve into more disgraceful matters.

“I’ve heard rumors, my boy,” the Emperor says, looking at him knowingly from across the table. “Ones you might find quite interesting.”

“I care little for gossip, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo says as blankly as he can manage. “I seek only the knowledge that will allow me to better serve you.”

“Of course,” the Emperor drawls. “But the rumors concern yourself. There is no room for secrets to hide in Andui and if I am aware of them, then surely the court is equally well-versed.” 

His speech is always so slow when he finds things disagreeable and Kylo already plans himself a fitting punishment for when he is alone in his rooms.

“I’ve heard you and the girl are quite taken with one another,” he says. Kylo would almost say he is smirking but the Emperor is too noble to be weighed down by such pettiness. “You’ve been seen all around the palace, trying to consummate the union.”

The Emperor’s eyes bore into his skull and a wave of shame threatens to drown him where he sits. He had been so careful and it has all been for naught. Rey will not want him for dishonoring her so. She will abandon him now that he has proven to be so incapable.

He attempts to apologize for the dishonor he has brought upon them all but the Emperor silences him with an almost careless wave of his hand.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t fuck her before the wedding,” Emperor Snoke tells him matter-of-factly. There is no malice in his voice and yet it pains Kylo to hear it. “A child born even a month premature is enough to incite gossip by the legitimacy of the line.” 

He doesn’t respond to the Emperor’s advice, no matter how practical it might be, and His Imperial Majesty continues the lecture. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to take your rights once everything is said and done,” he says. “We can’t have the court realizing your bride doesn’t have the sense to close her legs. They’ll all be asking for a turn.”

There is a pang of anger in his chest, something sharp and hot that makes him want to shout, but Kylo does his best to swallow it down. The bitterness lingers even after he attempts to wash it away with the Emperor’s preferred wine, only beginning to fade when it is clear they have moved on to more important matters than his failings. 

“However, it seems your little bride’s countrymen aren’t quite as eager as she is for you to be joined, my boy,” the Emperor says. “I’ve heard all sorts of whispers and none of them are to my liking.” 

There is anger flickering in his voice and he looks at him with disappointment in his proud eyes. It’s as though the disapproval of some peasant farmers is entirely his fault and discomfort grips Kylo’s stomach far too tightly for his liking.

“You have been more than generous with the Republic, Your Imperial Majesty,” he insists. “If they are unsatisfied by your mercy, then they do not deserve it.”

The Emperor grins and Kylo’s tension melts into pride. For the first time all evening, he has lived up to expectations and it is nearly enough to make his shame go quiet.

“My reasoning exactly,” His Imperial Majesty drawls. “Treaties are all well and good but treaties aren’t what make men kneel. If this insolence persists, they will need a reminder of why they bowed down in the first place.”

His Imperial Majesty stares and it is though his wise eyes know every part of him.

“I will be counting on you to defend what is rightfully mine… what is rightfully yours.” His Imperial Majesty’s voice fills the chambers and Kylo’s hand clamors for his blade. “Regardless of any distractions, I will need your devotion now more than ever.”

“Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo says. “I will serve you well.”

He bows his head and glorious purpose floods through him. He is stronger now, stronger than he can ever remember being, and his mind is once again as it should be.

\--

There might be an uprising but he will destroy it before it even starts. He will subdue the world if it is what the Emperor wants. He will burn nations to the ground if it means all is as it should be. 

He goes to bed with only duty on his mind, the machinations of the battlefield dancing through his thoughts.

And yet when he dreams, it is still only of her.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Weakness and Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor was right. His compassion is making him weak. 
> 
> Otherwise known as "Kylo hates Poe"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback on the past few chapters. I'm so glad that so many of you are eager to delve into Kylo's mind.
> 
> I am continuously blown away by how lovely you all are and your comments make me irrationally happy. Leave whatever feedback you'd like but know that whatever you do is incredible. 
> 
> For those that are interested, I'm also in the process of working on a Reylo! College AU that is definitely not as angsty as the SWWBQ verse so be on the lookout for that.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Kylo fasts for two days after the Emperor’s warnings, the growing hunger reminding him of the weakness he still needs to overcome. He wakes before the sun rises, retreating into the welcome solace of the armory where who he is makes sense. There is elegance in violence and it is one that still manages to captivate him more often than not. 

He spends his nights praying to the gods for forgiveness, only stopping when his body cannot bear the burden of his penitence any longer. He wants nothing more to be worthy of his duty, to be the man His Imperial Majesty has tried so desperately to form from imperfect flesh, and yet the gods don’t seem to listen.

He sees his betrothed wherever he goes and though he makes it a point to hide himself from her, her presence haunts her far better than any phantom. The smallest trifle reminds him of Rey and he nearly cracks his mirror in two when she refuses to leave his sight.

Kylo read once that ancient priests proved their devotion through the shedding of blood, sacrificing their flesh for salvation. He wonders now if such measures would allow him the same forgiveness.

It would be easier to bask in her seduction but he will be stronger for surviving it. He rededicates himself to the Emperor’s cause instead of giving in. It is the only choice he has.

\--

He manages five days without her presence before Rey seeks him out, invading the corridor by the armory with little care to his desires. Her hair is not nearly as elaborate as she has taken to wearing it given the early hour and he hates himself for noticing. It cascades down to her shoulders in a rebellious wave, looking far too sumptuous than it has any reason to be.

She smiles softly when she sees him, her face angled up as she awaits the kiss he will not allow himself to give her.

Kylo returns her affection with a nod but it is not the deterrence he had hoped it would be. She wears concern like a mother’s mask and he hates the worry in her eyes. 

“Is there something wrong?” Rey asks. “I’ve barely seen you…”

Her voice is gentle, lacking any of the fierceness to which he has grown so quickly accustomed. Her hand finds his and for a brief moment, he can only think of how soft her skin feels.

He cuts her off before he can be seduced by her compassion but he makes no move to withdraw his hand. 

“I’m perfectly well,” he says. “I have had… matters to attend to.”

Her brow furrows but she takes him at his word. It is a flimsy excuse but he has no further statement prepared.

“As have I,” she tells him. She squeezes his hand and he feels almost a child again. “But your obligations never seemed to have impeded you from finding me before. I was worried...”

“I don’t need you to worry about me,” Kylo tells her. “Your concern is misplaced.”

Her gentleness fades and her lips set in a thin line. Even he can tell he has offended her but perhaps it is better this way. She will not distract him and he can finally become a man who is worthy of her.

“Of course,” she says curtly, nodding her head. She still holds his hand but her grip has slackened. Her eyes meet his and he is reacquainted with something that hurts far more than her distaste.

“I’ll leave you then,” Rey tells him. “I can see you don’t want me interfering.”

There is no lingering question in her voice, only quiet resignation. His hand falls from her grasp and she turns to depart before he has a chance to offend her further.

His legs end up betraying him far quicker than his mind ever could. She halts before he needs to run, frozen as he damns himself even further.  

He stops before her and takes her face between his hands, growing more lost by the second. She does not protest but there is steeliness in her gaze as she stares back. Their lips are only inches away and it is unnatural to be so close without availing himself of the honor of her embrace. 

“We will have time together after the wedding,” he says. “I promise.”

It is a feeble excuse but it is all he can offer. His word is the only thing he has left to give.

She nods her acceptance and he kisses it from her lips before allowing her to depart.

It is only His Imperial Majesty’s guidance, the voice that scarcely leaves his thoughts that gives him the strength to watch her go.

\--

The threat of a Republic uprising grows larger as his wedding draws even nearer.

Hux talks of nothing but Republic spies within the Imperial army on the occasions he is allowed the grace of the Emperor’s table. He makes it a point to mention the Republic’s leadership as often as possible when His Imperial Majesty is listening, his voice snide when he comments on the inadequacies of Leia Organa’s governance.

Though Hux’s smugness belies his concern, the truth in his words is obvious. The petty grievances of the fighting corps are hardly Kylo’s concern and yet their unease must be great if Hux would blacken the Emperor’s ears with talk of an uprising that would be as ill fated as it was treasonous.

His mother’s people, it seems, are incapable of reason. His mother’s people are unfortunately just like her.

Hux always leaves the Emperor’s company with a satisfied grin on his unfortunate face, his taunts lingering in Kylo’s ears long after he has been unceremoniously dismissed for the evening.

The only consolation is the way the Emperor urges him to linger after each and every report. Despite his family’s failings, he is still needed by the Emperor’s side. 

\--

“Your renewed dedication to your training is admirable,” His Imperial Majesty says once the General’s presence has long since vanished. “You are nearly as strong as your grandfather was.”

“I am doing my best to honor him, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo says. He is proud despite himself and he does his best to swallow it down. “Just as I wish to honor you.”

The Emperor grins and the world is all the brighter for it. The Emperor’s praise is so fleeting and Kylo memorizes the joy on His Imperial Majesty’s face, the sustenance that will spur him on for weeks. 

The satisfaction fades before Kylo has a chance to devour it; fading into a knowing look by the time His Imperial Majesty reclaims his wine glass.

“You will honor him even more when you further his line.”

His Imperial Majesty sips from his glass and his eyebrows are raised. He wears the same carnal look the Captain is prone to when she is in her cups and it doesn’t suit him in the slightest.

“If the gods are good, it will not take long for your union to prove bountiful,” His Imperial Majesty tells him. “Your son will have the life I wish that you had been given. He will finish what your grandfather so nobly began.”

“If the gods are good, my grandfather’s work will be finished before then,” Kylo replies. “I am more than capable of upholding your teachings, Your Imperial Majesty. I will not fail you.”

“You have proven yourself to be an adequate pupil,” His Imperial Majesty drawls. It sounds almost like a compliment and it is clearly not intended as such. “But caution is a virtue that youth often overlook. Your son will have a father that is loyal to our cause. The same can’t be said for you.” 

His words sting like a blade and Kylo imagines bleeding out right there.

“I have no father,” he says, teeth nearly grinding. “He means nothing to me.”

The ghost of Han Solo floods through his mind and it’s a fouler vision than any massacre.

There is silence, ominous and grating. His Imperial Majesty sets his wine down and his voice is crisp and clear when he finally chooses to speak.

“If what the General says is true, the days ahead will be trying ones,” he says without blinking. “Even you have not yet faced such a test.”

He fiddles with his signet ring and Kylo cannot think to answer. His Imperial Majesty speaks once more before allowing him to take his leave, his mood decidedly more chipper for one who had issued such a grave warning. 

“I would like to see your bride before the wedding,” the Emperor tells him. “It would be nice to share a meal with something pretty.”

It is not a request but Kylo murmurs his agreement with the idea nonetheless.

\--

Rey is not with her ladies when he searches for her the next morning.

A footman with glazed eyes allows him to enter her sitting rooms, revealing only a horde of girls that seem woefully unaffected by their mistress’ absence. None of them bother to glance over when is announced, too consumed with themselves to spare their sovereign a passing glance until he speaks.

“Where is she?”

It dawns on him that he should be using Rey’s titles in front of those who are so obviously below them both. Despite the lack of formality, none of her attendants seem confused as to his desires.

They laugh at him, not even bothering to hide their giggles. They stare at him like he is a curiosity, their big eyes wide as one of their number finally speaks.

“We thought she was with you, Your Imperial Highness,” one of the girls tells him. “We haven’t seen Her Ladyship all morning.”

The other girls murmur a hum of agreement and though he finds them distasteful for any number of reasons, he has no reason to believe they are lying.

Kylo leaves the room before he is forced to endure a second more in their company. He hears more laughing as he slams the door.

\--

Kylo searches their usual haunts, his head nearly throbbing by the time he is about to search the grounds. 

Too much time has passed when he stumbles upon Captain Dameron leaving the Imperial barracks with a furtive expression on his face. Dameron's eyebrows raise when his self-obsession allows him to notice a world beyond his ego but he does not look nearly as terrified as a man who has deserted his post should be.

He smiles at Kylo like they were the oldest of friends; bowing his head in an imitation of the respect he is due. It is only the thought of Rey’s disappointment that keeps him from striking.

“Where is she, Dameron?”

He isn’t yelling but it is only a matter of time before his anger gets the better of him

“You know just as well as I do, Your Imperial Highness,” Dameron tells him. “I’m her guard, not her jailer. I would not keep her from doing what she pleases.”

“You are to keep her safe,” Kylo says through gritted teeth. “I don’t care what you call yourself as long as she is kept out of harm’s way. I had assumed you weren’t eager to endanger your mistress.”

“Rey is more than capable of taking care of herself,” Captain Dameron says. “You should know that more than anyone.”

He uses her name like he has every right and Kylo longs to punch the condescending look clean off his face.

“It doesn’t matter what your lady is capable of,” Kylo tells him. “It matters whether you are doing what you are told.”

Captain Dameron rolls his eyes and Kylo’s hand aches from keeping it by his side.

“I’m sure she’s not alone. Finn is most likely with her, Your Imperial Highness,” Dameron adds, still unbearably smug even when he is remembering his proper place. “But if I were you, I’d try searching the stables next. Rey really is quite fond of riding.”

His noxious grin returns and bile rises in Kylo’s throat.

He leaves before he acts on his more understandable impulses, seeking out his betrothed wherever she may be hiding.

Apparently she is quite fond of riding. He does not like to think of how Captain Dameron acquired that particular knowledge.

\--

Rey is dressed almost as shoddily as a stable boy when he finally finds her but the pride she wears is more queenly than any crown. In his adoration, he had almost forgotten what it was to bear the brunt of her anger and it is a familiar sensation that he loathes as soon as it hits him.

She is cross- for what he cannot say- but she is cross with him regardless. She defends the lesser of her guards despite his incompetence and only seems to grow angrier when he tries to defend himself.

She is his or she will be very soon. He, more than anyone, has a right to know where she will be going. 

But his protestations are met with deaf ears and only responded to with shouting. If she weren’t quite so angry, he would kiss her, would find out whether trousers were more amenable to their preferred mode of communication than the bulk of her gowns.

Rey is yelling even louder now and his heart sinks in his chest as she tirades about the freedom to do something she actually enjoys.

Her glare pierces him from where she stands and the past few weeks become long-distant memories. It is as though she has tolerated his clumsy fumbling for his sake and for a moment, he doubts every sigh that has ever left her lips.

He lashes out without thinking, his mind remembering the last time he dared to give into his own carnality, and her anger becomes exasperation. Her cheeks glow pink and he sees the same memory flit across her eyes as she remembers how pleasant they can be towards one another.

It’s the quietest she has been since their reintroduction and he offers the Emperor’s invitation before his study of her takes it clean from his mind. She grimaces when he says His Imperial Majesty’s name but it fades when he offers what little he can to temporarily bridle her impetuousness.

If she wants to run around the castle like a beggar, then he will never be able to stop her. The least he can do is ensure that she’ll be safe.

“I want you to handle a sword,” he says, watching the curious expression on her face turn into a raised brow.

She doubts the offer and he does not fault her for it. There is no place for women on the battlefield, least of all in the disciplined keep of the Empire’s forces, but he cannot imagine leaving her so defenseless if the Emperor calls on him to fight once more.

“Phasma is already teaching me that,” she says primly as if the innuendo is passing her by entirely. “I can show you after the wedding.”

The thought of her succumbing to the temptations of the flesh is an enticing one and Kylo finds himself half-hard despite his better intentions.

He clarifies the offer as best he can, willing his want to disappear entirely. She seems more than pacified, almost relieved, and he waits eagerly for the embrace that she surely would have greeted him with only a day ago.

It doesn’t come and he steals a kiss from her brow, breathing in her scent, before she can say no.

It isn’t what he wants but it is apparently more than he deserves.

\--

He trains as much as he can before their dinner, stopping only when the Emperor summons him to his side.

It is no surprise to find Phasma already seated, her hand tethered to the Emperor’s arm. She has done nothing for days but brag about her burgeoning connection with his bride but His Imperial Majesty seems more amused than not by the Captain’s ramblings, encouraging her to talk more of the bride that is all but bought and paid for.

What surprises him most is the already smug presence of General Hux, his chest nearly toppling from the obscene amount of medals festooned upon it. But Kylo holds his tongue, choosing instead to devour the Emperor’s words while trying his hardest not to stare at the door for the remaining member of their party.

Rey is late. If the Captain’s behavior is any indication, this is commonplace for women, but his agitation only ceases when he hears the Emperor’s man announce her arrival.

\--

She enters the Emperor’s salon long after the rest of them have been seated, her steps almost tentative as she finally makes her way to His Imperial Majesty’s table.

For all of the trepidation in her eyes, her gown is far more daring than anything he has ever seen her wear. Part of him, the prideful part that thinks daily of chopping off Captain Dameron’s hands, loathes just how much the world can see but it is a part that is easily silenced by the more primeval part of his mind. 

He can see more of her breasts than even his most ardent explorations had allowed and his breath catches in his throat as his eyes devour the curves of her body.

There are flowers embroidered on the silk, painted the same vivid red as her lips, and they trail enticingly below her waist. But it is the strong black of her gown that makes him long for nothing more but their wedding night.

Rey is radiant in anything she wears, but she is nothing short of sublime in his colors. She is the more beautiful than even his most depraved imaginings and he longs for nothing more than to offer up his flesh as penance for all of the sins he is so eager to commit. He stares long past the point of politeness and even then it is not nearly enough to satisfy. 

His betrothed is seated across from him, her manner quiet as their meal begins. She says very little even when His Imperial Majesty makes his appreciation for her loveliness known, responding only with gentle nods that do not suit her in the slightest.

Her eyes meet his once the normal flow of conversation starts, an almost daring look hidden behind them when the Emperor’s attentions return to the next day’s pending spectacle. Perhaps it is because she drinks far more than he had expected. Her glass is never empty thanks to the watchful eye of the Captain but her quiet defiance goes beyond one too many glasses of wine.

His betrothed’s cheeks are almost as red as her lips by the time the Emperor forgets that they are in the company of women. His Imperial Majesty talks of the coming battles ahead like he was in his council chambers and though he speaks the truth; Kylo cannot say he is surprised to hear his bride’s voice ring out at last.

“People in the Republic are very tenacious,” his betrothed says. “We tend to fight when our cause is just.”

Her words are too poisonous to be heard as anything other than blatant heresy and the fire in her eyes burns even brighter. Kylo’s blood runs hot in his veins and he loathes himself for finding her lovely even then. 

He had imagined that it would be months before the Empire went to war with the Republic. It is clear from Rey’s words that the battle has already begun.

In his graciousness, His Imperial Majesty excuses her insolence, blaming it on the nerves all brides have before their wedding day. It is more forgiveness than she deserves but it makes Kylo’s heart glad to hear it nonetheless.

There is still plenty of time for her to see the light as he had. He will have all the time in the world to show her just how right things could be.

\-- 

Their party disperses and Rey leaves before he can offer himself as escort. She chooses instead to accept the aid of Captain Dameron, touching him almost as soon as he arrives.

Kylo has half a mind to follow them, to stop their cozy tranquility before it has a chance to ruin him entirely, but the gods give him the strength to ignore such petty desires and focus on the duty that lies ahead. 

It is only when he returns to himself that he realizes his wanderings have led him to his betrothed’s favorite hiding place.

She isn’t there but he waits anyway. 

She will find him. She always does.

\--

The door to the library opens and his heart soars in his chest when he sees his betrothed. It has been hardly any time at all but the resolve with which Rey had insulted the Emperor has all but faded, leaving only a girl whose eyes are rimmed with red.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles on the obvious, highlighting her sadness in a way that sounds stupid even to him. But she seeks him out nonetheless,

It takes only seconds for her to reach him, travelling with a haste that is almost frightening. She hides her face before he can take a further look but her concealment proves ineffective. He can feel the wetness on her cheeks stain his uniform as she rests her head against his chest, her body heaving with sobs that only ever seem to grow louder.

She is not a dignified crier but dignity hardly matters now. She is weeping for a country that has long since forgotten them both, but her grief is as fresh as his was when he was first saved by the Emperor.

Kylo does not know how long she cries and it is easy to lose track of time entirely as he holds her. His world is reduced to the feel of her in his arms, an insufficient balm to the lone mourner of the Republic. It would be too much to think that any part of her grief would ever be for him.

But he holds her nonetheless, too grateful that she would turn to him in her hour of need to question why she does it. She had found him. He will pretend for now that fact alone is the only thing that matters.

Eventually her sobbing stops, leaving them only in moonlit silence. She is so small now, almost breakable, and his heart is a lump in his throat as her breathing returns to a more sustainable cadence.

The front of his jacket is all but soaked through and she almost collapses when he moves them both. It would be kinder to carry her to her apartments, far kinder than abandoning her to the phantoms who haunt Andui at night, but he has no doubt that she would refuse. 

“I’ll return you to your rooms,” he tells her. The hour is far too late for respectability but even the scandal of being seen together will surely die the moment they say their vows before the gods.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. She is calm but her voice is hoarse from crying. “I promise.”

She protests once more and yet she does not shudder when he takes her hand.

\--

The halls are oddly quiet and even the revelers who would normally fill the palace with the sounds of their vice are silent. He can hear their steps ringing through the corridors and it is the first time since he was a child that Andui feels almost grand.

They arrive at her chambers far too quickly for his taste. . Her cheeks are still blotchy and her hand falls to her side but she does not flee from him just yet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. He nods his head and the gesture feels stiff even to him.

“Tomorrow,” she repeats, finally meeting his eye. There is a look of realization on her face and the meaning of the word hangs heavy between them.

Rey kisses the skin just right of his mouth, lingering even if she doesn’t press any further. She is normally so bold and it as though the past few weeks were just a glorious fever dream. He turns his head slightly, tasting the wine on her breath as her lips part to allow him entrance.

She pulls away before he does, pressing a final kiss against his lips before disappearing into her maidenly retreat.

\-- 

He spends his remaining hours as a bachelor pretending he isn’t in love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Something Old, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do apologize, Kylo,” His Imperial Majesty tells him. “Weddings can be so tedious and yours is truly a spectacle."
> 
> Otherwise known as "Phasma embarrasses her friends" and "A Surprise Appearance"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have read thus far and extra special thanks to those who have left feedback :) Feel free to leave whatever feedback you'd like on this chapter and know it all makes me very, very happy. 
> 
> We're getting to the part where the fic earns its rating so I hope this prelude meets expectations. 
> 
> Bug me on tumblr-mygrandmathinksimsassy- and enjoy!

Kylo cannot sleep no matter how hard he tries. He cannot sleep and so he prays, trying his hardest to reach the gods who must think nothing of blinding him from his purpose. It is hard enough to be the man His Imperial Majesty has demanded him to be when he is on the battlefield. It is nearly impossible when his own foolish judgment has made him so easily seduced. Thoughts of his bride dart into his pleas and her face lingers even if the gods remain silent.

When he finally resigns himself to daylight, he feels no sense of resolution, only a wariness that never quite fades. He dons his dress uniform, the one that he has not had cause to wear since the Empire subdued the people of Andui, long before he needs to and tries his hardest not to find fault with his reflection.

His nose and ears are far too large for him to ever be considered handsome. His mother had once said that he would grow into them, that he would melt into his features just as Han had when he was a boy. It seems hardly surprising now that she lied.

Rey seems to tolerate his lacking appearance well enough but perhaps she would find him more tolerable if he were handsome. She likes Captain Dameron well enough, more than any other man in the palace, and Kylo’s heart catches in his throat when he remembers the easy way she followed him away. 

Rey had left him with a kiss but he can’t help but wonder if Captain Dameron, the man who gets to hold her arm and steal her laughter, was afforded the same privileges. Kylo does his hardest to put those thoughts out of mind before he breaks his mirror in two.

His bride had turned to him in her hour of need. She must care for him, at least a little bit.

When he finishes readying, there are still hours left before he is to be wed. Rey is only a few hallways away but he keeps himself from sneaking one last glance.

He decides instead to find the Captain. For all of her faults, she is never more than an arm’s length from a bottle. Perhaps today will be easier if he is drunk.

\--

Phasma looks as though she has been expecting him. She’s wearing the most obnoxious of her uniforms, Imperial livery in an obscene black velvet, but the glow on her cheeks is one that he has long since become familiar with.

He returns her smug delight with a nod, sitting uneasily on one of the chairs in her salon as she insists on punishing him with something more than libations.

“You’re dreadfully lucky, Kylo,” Phasma says as a servant fills her glass. “This is the first wedding I’ve been to where I’ve actually spared a thought for the bride.”

The footman leaves another glass for him but the Captain cruelly leaves it empty.

“I see no reason for you to even be invited,” Kylo tells her. She smirks and he glowers. “Weddings are supposed to be respectable affairs.”

“His Imperial Majesty would not ask me to share my years of expertise with your intended if my abilities weren’t at least respectable,” she tells him. “You should feel lucky that I have time in my busy schedule to ensure the line doesn’t die with you.”

He can’t imagine her having any responsibility beyond the companionship she provides His Imperial Majesty. She is too self-absorbed to donate her too-large allowance to any cause worth merit and he hasn’t seen her without a glass in hand for almost a decade but apparently it is enough to fill her days. 

She’s drinking a port today and he has half a mind to command her to hand it over, to calm the bundle of apprehension that has knotted itself within his stomach.

"Just make sure you know where it goes," Phasma says once she catches him eyeing the bottle. "I've done all I can to prepare your little bride but I'm just a woman not a wizard."

She pours him a glass and Kylo accepts it without even thinking. He swallows it down in one gulp, savoring the way the liquid burns his throat. 

"I know where it goes," he says through gritted teeth. He is trying his hardest not to look at her but she is making it so difficult. "I'm not an idiot." 

"Really?" Phasma says in a dumbfounded voice. "I must say I'm impressed. I remember you having a great deal of trouble with that particular skill."

She winks and he is the same foolish child he had been when the Emperor forced their acquaintance. He had been a boy and she was a woman fully formed even if she was scarcely older than he was. She had pretended to find him charming and with the Emperor’s not so subtle encouragement, he had been fool enough to let her lead him into her bed on the day he turned fifteen.

She wasn’t the Captain then, just another one of the local girls that His Imperial Majesty would call on when the nights grew cold in Coruscant. But he supposes his deflowering was her initiation into the royal family, proof that she could follow orders no matter how odious they might be.

The act itself wasn’t memorable, too short and stilted to be deemed anything other than a failure, but Phasma has never let him forget it. She still sends over a bottle from her wine cellar each year on his birthday so he can toast to the loss of his virtue.

She is truly an odious woman. He has no idea how the Emperor can tolerate her.

\--

The Emperor deigns to visit Phasma’s chambers before the ceremony begins and it is an interruption Kylo has never been gladder to see. Kylo rises to bow but His Imperial Majesty stops him with a flourish of his hand. He smiles with no cause and Kylo can’t remember ever seeing him in such high spirits.

“I do apologize, Kylo,” His Imperial Majesty says with a gracious smile as one of his attendants guides him toward them both. “Weddings can be so tedious and yours is truly a spectacle."

He wears the crown that Kylo’s grandfather had worn on his coronation and it is almost as though Anakin Skywalker himself is the one offering him such welcome reassurance.

“But it’ll be worth it for the wedding night, my boy,” the Emperor says. The grin on his face grows larger and his elbow finds Kylo’s side. “Your little bride has quite the figure. If only I were a young man again, I might have liked to see just how eager she can be.” 

Any comfort is all but disappeared and though Phasma laughs at the Emperor’s words, Kylo finds himself entirely unamused.

The Emperor doesn’t notice, or if he does, he does not acknowledge it. Instead, he beckons Phasma over, kissing her hand before winking in Kylo’s direction.

“You’ll have her gagging for it soon enough,” His Imperial Majesty continues and his grin has become a leer. “And once she’s pregnant, you’ll have the freedom I have been so lucky to enjoy these past wonderful years. Mistresses are far more enjoyable than wives.”

“Your Imperial Majesty is too kind,” Phasma drawls. She angles her body towards the Emperor, looking just how she did on that night years ago. Kylo feels like he is intruding and he has never regretted an empty glass more. 

The Emperor eventually remembers his presence but all reassurance has disappeared. 

“Know how lucky you are, my boy,” His Imperial Majesty says, looking almost as proud as the woman on his arm. “I will be bearing the burden of your future for you once you’ve graced the Empire with a son. Millions of men would die to be where you are.” 

They soon make their way to Andui’s most hallowed ground, parting the crowds that have gathered to be seen at his wedding. Kylo remains as silent as decorum will allow, the Emperor’s words taunting him as he reaches the altar.

\--

There is a sea of courtiers already seated; each dressed more brightly than their prince in colors that are far too garish to his taste. It is rarity enough that he wears a color than black and though he feels ridiculous in his dress uniform, it is almost a relief to blend in to the rabble even as he stands before them all.

The priest, a wizened old man with a beard that hangs nearly past his waist, arrives at the altar soon after but the gathered crowd only grows louder in volume. Their sound is nearly deafening and Kylo’s head throbs like a drum as he stares longingly down the aisle.

Just as soon as the crowd began their din, they hush and their silence falls over them like a shroud. He turns his head as they grow quiet, his heart pounding in his chest as he sees the woman who is soon to become his wife. 

Rey is beautiful, a vision in white, and his breath catches in his throat as she draws nearer toward him. The dress is not nearly as daring as last night’s attire but she is just as perfect. She is purity itself and he yearns for nothing more than the blessing of her touch. 

He does not look away as she draws near, her steps silent as she floats down the aisle. She is alone and he is grateful for it, glad that he has the opportunity to stare with nothing to block his gaze. 

\-- 

His vows are the ones he imagined his grandfather giving long ago, the oaths to the gods that have withstood the test of time. He speaks his portion as easy as breathing and the words that he had been forced to memorize only weeks before have a meaning he never thought they would have.

It is an honor to swear his devotion before the gods. It is a privilege to tie his destiny to a woman only they would have had the wisdom to make his. 

When the priest commands, he offers her his grandmother’s ring, a delicate silver band that his grandfather had forged himself. It slides on her finger as though it was made for her but the metal is cold against the furnace of her palm. 

She gives him his ring, her hand slightly trembling as the gold finds its way onto his skin. The Emperor had never worn a ring even while his late wife drew breath but it seems only right to Kylo to prove his devotions in what small way he can. 

The priest blesses their union and Kylo can hear the roar of the crowd as he leans in to seal their contract in front of the gods. Their lips meet and though it is far more innocent kiss than any they have shared, his blood floods with a familiar warmth nonetheless.

When they part, there is a smattering of applause but then they are soon forgotten. The feast has already begun and the court seems to care far more for drink than they do for the pair of them. 

Kylo takes his wife’s hand, leading her to the ballroom as the crowd disappears. She grips him a bit too harshly, her nails sharp against his skin, but he only responds by holding her tighter. 

She is his now. The knowledge that she will always be his nourishes him far better than any thing he has ever tasted.

\--

They are seated at a table almost higher than the Emperor’s, their chairs almost intertwined with their closeness. He has held her hand since they left the altar and it pleases him more than it should that he does not have to let her go just yet.

Food is brought out, far too much of it, and an unflagging stream of toasts begins. Rey drinks far more than her normal custom but so does he. It is hard not to with the oceans of wine His Imperial Majesty has provided and Kylo finds his inhibitions melting with every glass.

His hand finds Rey’s lower thigh and though she does not object, he can’t tell whether her brow is raised in amusement or exasperation. She feels warm even through the heavy fabric and he thinks of nothing but finally feeling the heat of her skin against his. Her lips are almost berries now, stained burgundy from the wine, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep from feasting on them.

There is a line of well wishers who insist on interrupting their meal, and though he is nearly drunk enough to command them to vanish entirely, perhaps it is for the best that his thoughts of depravity cannot come to fruition. All sorts of men find their way to their prince and princess, their cheeks glowing red but what irks him more is the way they look at Rey.

Kylo cannot fault them for their admiration. They would have to be fools if they weren’t awed by her radiance, but they are even greater fools for leering at her in his presence. Their eyes find her lips, the swell of her breasts, and he aches for the sword that is half a palace away.

His hand winds its way upward with each passing interloper and yet he wants to mark her more, to claim her now when the entire court is watching.

The swell of sycophants grows and the illusion of solitude fades away entirely. Rey has been quiet, quiet even for her, and he yearns even more to depart the evening’s festivities in favor of a more private celebration. 

He talks of matters that he cares little for, enduring conversation with only the sustenance of what awaits him when the festivities have come to an end. He speaks to one particularly pompous man, nodding his head without really listening when something finally catches his eye. Kylo spots a flash of a familiar jacket, a well-worn fabric that’s undoubtedly older than him, but it disappears before he can take a closer look.

When he turns to discuss the matter with Rey, he finds her chair empty. His hand hovers over nothingness and he sees nothing but that same jacket-clad figure stealing his wife away. His wife is taking the man’s arm and though he cannot make out all of the thief’s face, a glimpse of his profile is more than enough to confirm the identity of the unwanted guest.

\--

Kylo watches as Han takes Rey in his arms, waltzing with a tenderness that he had never shown his mother. He is undoubtedly older but Han looks happy in a way that Kylo can’t remember seeing on the rare occasions he would stay long enough to unpack his trunks but the easy grin on Rey’s face is what makes his blood begin to boil. Her smile is bright and he can almost hear her laughter over the din of the music.

It is a miracle that they haven’t been spotted but when he scans the room, the only guards he sees are well into their cups and far too drunk to be of use. The great General Hux himself is equally as inebriated, his face ruddy as he nearly prostrates himself upon His Imperial Majesty’s table. The only other figure that looks sober enough to walk is one that he has not seen since his childhood and he’s more impressed than enraged that a man so tall can hide so seamlessly in the hordes of guests.

Even with the lacking disguise, Han had seemed weathered but the years have barely touched his father’s first mate. Chewbacca is the same force of nature Kylo remembers from his childhood, a bearded titan that spoke more with his fists than with the common tongue. Were it not for the straining Imperial guard uniform he must have stolen from some unfortunate member of Hux’s party, he would be a figment from a child’s imagination, larger than life and all too familiar for comfort.

Chewbacca catches his eye before he can divert his attentions back to Rey, meeting an angry gaze with a wary smile and a finger held in warning against his lips. There is a moment of uncertainty but Kylo returns the greeting with a curt nod before doing his best to ignore the man who used to be an uncle to him.

There is no forced reunion and Kylo is grateful for it, relieved that the past he has tried so desperately to forget will not rear its ugly head just yet. If his childhood is indication, then Han will disappear as soon once he’s cleaned the room of any valuables. If he can endure watching Rey bask in his adoration until then, it will be as though none of this has ever happened.

The music starts to slow and he strains to catch some glimpse of what Rey is divulging to Han. He ventures closer, parting the crowd almost too drunk to notice their prince’s interruption. 

There is applause and he just barely makes out the remnants of a dying conversation, one that ends with Han leaving the ballroom just as easily as he had appeared. 

Rey looks crestfallen, her happiness almost immediately subdued, but the only thing Kylo feels when he is finally with his bride is relief.

\--

She allows him a dance, accepting his offer with caution in her eyes. It should be a pleasant thing to hold her but the looming promise of the night means it is not nearly enough.

Their conversation is stilted although it is hardly surprising given what has just transpired. It is some small comfort that she does not deny the identity of her former partner but he can’t help but notice the prying look that lingers in her eyes. 

Perhaps she had expected him to be forgiving. It seems his wife will have to cope with disappointment.

Her lips fall into a pout and she is loveliness itself even if naiveté still clouds her vision. The music has all but faded and she is the only thing in sight. He can feel his grip tighten but she is still not close enough.

He forgets himself. It was only a matter of time.

“I happen to have very selfish reasons for wanting the evening’s festivities to end,” he says as he breathes her in. His nostrils fill with the ghost of her perfume but it is the sheen of sweat dotting her neck that pushes him past the point of drunkenness.

“I thought princes weren’t supposed to be selfish,” she says, her voice tinged by amusement. “They’re supposed to be virtuous and think only of their people.”

She’s teasing him, he thinks, but he’s too eager to take offense. He leans in as he has dozens of times before, speaking in a way he only allows himself to do in dreams.

“Fuck virtue,” he tells her. “I want you.”

His vows could have been limited to those three simple words and they would have more truth than any ramblings forged by an ancient priest. Rey doesn’t look as offended as his crassness merits and something within him nearly bursts to think that she could want him just a bit.

Their lips meet and it is the start of a claiming he is so desperate to finish. She tastes of wine and wanting, and though their embrace lacks refinement, it might quite possibly be the finest they have shared. 

He drinks from her until the world comes back into view and even then he is still parched. 

\--

The rabble starts to dissipate and a horde of his wife’s attendants starts to swarm around her. He has no opportunity for a farewell before they make her disappear entirely and he watches as they nearly carry her off into the hall, their voices nearly shrieks as they prattle on about their princess’ duties.

The hall soon empties, leaving only His Imperial Majesty and the Captain who is clearly far too drunk to be aware of her surroundings. He summons Kylo, his eyes more forceful than any command, and heir is left to reckon with Emperor.

The Emperor does not share his companion’s inebriation. If anything, he looks far sharper than he had that morning and Kylo sobers up in an instant.

There are no pleasantries, no blessings for a happy marriage, but the Emperor was never one for false softness. He says only what he needs to say; too wise for the tedium that drowns his court.

“I clearly don’t need to worry about you getting a child on her,” His Imperial Majesty says. “I’m sure half the court was convinced you’d take your rights before dessert.”

“It will not happen again, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo says. “I did not mean to disgrace you…” 

The Emperor holds his hand up, dismissing Kylo’s pleas as easily as they were made.

“I’d be more disgraced if I thought you weren’t going to be dutiful,” the Emperor tells him. “The court will fall over themselves to forget your foolishness the moment their newest prince is born…. Remember that when you’re enjoying the wife I bought for you. Remember why you have been allowed such an opportunity.”

He is dismissed with another wave of the Emperor’s hand but Kylo is no longer thinking of the delights that might await him in his bed. He sees only a boy, not quite him but bearing more than a passing resemblance, and his heart is full of pity for the child they have been doomed to create.

\--

Kylo undresses, leaving on his drawers for her modesty more than his, and waits for what feels like an eternity. The lingering minutes are spent using what little rationality he has left.

If he were nobler, he would keep from his wife’s bed entirely. But he does not have the strength to deprive himself of her, not when her body fits so perfectly against his and a touch is enough to subdue him completely.       

Rey kisses him with an enthusiasm he never could have imagined, but it doesn’t hide the fear that lingers in her eyes when His Imperial Majesty offers his guidance. She has made no effort to hide her distaste for the Empire, for _their_ people, and he cannot imagine a world where she would gladly offer their son in service to the kingdom she so detests.

Perhaps she will learn but he does not have time to teach her before the Republic acts. There is no part of him that will allow a child whose fate she could never understand. 

His mother and Han had not understood and neither had he when the Emperor came to claim his heir. He had been a child, only a few years from manhood, and even then it had taken years for him to see the light.

He does not doubt that the Emperor will keep their son free of harm but his heart sinks to think of a child, _Rey’s_ child, which does not know him as a father. He is selfish, but it is his burden to bear. If judgment comes, he will be the one to answer it.

His thoughts are interrupted and he hears the giggling of her attendants long before the door even opens. When it does, it is only just, and his wife is the only one to enter much to the crowd’s dismay and his delight.

She is wearing only a shift and so much of her skin is left bare for his enjoyment. Her boldness seems to have disappeared but still she sits beside him on their bed, her breathing shaky even if her cheeks nearly glow.

\--

His body is nearly overwhelmed with wanting her. In truth, his heart almost bursts from love.


	6. Morning Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks untroubled in her sleep, peaceful and serene as a statue, and even now he cannot believe she is real, that he gets to be the one to share Rey’s bed and kiss her breasts and taste her cunt.
> 
> Otherwise known "A Brief Look at the Morning After"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while...   
> Thank you all who are still invested and intrigued. I am so grateful for all of your support and I'm so sorry that updates have been seldom and sporadic. I know this is a short chapter but I wanted to give you all something instead of nothing.
> 
> In related news, I'm thinking of retooling HWLTC to 1) induce updates 2) provide you all with in-universe content that goes beyond the parameters of SWWBQ (namely before the epilogue but after the penultimate chapter)
> 
> Let me know what you think- either here or on tumblr-mygrandmathinksimsassy. Thank you so much. I hope this little taste is enough until the next chapter.

 

He wakes before Rey does, roused by the unfamiliar weight of her arm on his chest. The rest of her limbs are equally rangy and though she is so small, it is a wonder that he has any bed at all. 

The steady lull of her breath fills the room along with the occasional snore. He forces himself not to move and even though his leg soon grows numb from stillness, it is more than worth it just to observe.

She looks untroubled in her sleep, peaceful and serene as a statue, and even now he cannot believe she is real, that he gets to be the one to share Rey’s bed and kiss her breasts and taste her cunt.

It is more than he deserves and he is still basking in his good fortune when she finally wakes.

“Good morning, wife,” he says. Her eyes are still half-closed but she smiles in a contented way.

“Good morning, husband” she says sleepily, curling up close to him.  Her breasts are pressed against his side and he thanks the Gods once more for their blessing.

They have been married for less than a day but his heart soars each time she calls him husband. He might even prefer it to his name.

“How are you feeling?” He runs a hand up and down her back and she yawns.  

“I’m a little sore,” she admits with another yawn. “But it’s a good kind of sore.”

She cranes her neck and kisses him without waiting for an invitation.  Her breath is slightly sour, tasting like sleep and wine, but he enjoys the taste regardless. Her kisses are delicate but eager and he’s starting to get hard. His mind fills with thoughts of consummating their union for a third time but there is a knock outside the bedroom door.

He is more than happy to ignore any disturbances but it seems the intruders have other ideas. The door bursts open and an entire delegation of servants flood into the room.  His wife sits up right, covering herself with the blankets, and he can’t help but glower at those who would disturb the little peace they’ve had.

“Leave us,” he says, putting on the voice that always seems to frighten the servants but they are woefully undeterred

"His Imperial Majesty wants us to collect the sheet, Your Imperial Highness,” one of the chambermaids says.

The girl stutters as she addresses him, her head barely lifted as she curtsys far too much.

“And His Imperial Majesty cannot wait any longer?”

There is no reply to that and that is answer enough.  The servants start collecting the clothes left on the floor and it is only a matter of time before they collect the Emperor’s bounty.  Rey pulls the sheets even higher and he’s never felt more powerless.  

“We have a bath ready for you, My Lady,” one of the other maids says. The first chambermaid coughs and she looks panicked. “I mean, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Thank you,” Rey says calmly and the girl nods her head. “If you could just give me a moment.”

 “Can you come with me?” She whispers this into his ear, a secret just for him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

 He nods his head without any hesitation and thinks of the blood splatter, small but unmistakable, that the entire court is soon to see.

\--

He does not join her in the bath itself, no matter how tempting the prospect, for fear that he would never leave the waters all. It is reward enough to watch her undress, to see Artemis laid bare only for him, and he sits happily by the side of the tub like the devious chambermaids in the bawdy stories Phasma is all too fond of telling.

Her body is just as lovely in the light as it had been the night before.  He can see the freckles dusted on her arms, the lithe muscles in her legs as she descends into the water. She is small but strong and he cannot imagine a day where he will not be glad just to look at her.

But she wants him to touch her and he is not one to disobey. She reaches for his hand and interrupts his silent observation as steam rises from the bath.

"Was I alright last night?"

Her hair falls in tendrils around her face she looks like a siren beckoning him towards doom. But even then, she speaks so cautiously, her eyes filled with the shyness that is all too quick to shine. 

"Alright at what?”

"You know what I mean…” she says, raising her brows although there is hesitation in her voice. "Fucking?”

Kylo has never heard her be so coarse and though he laughs before he can stop himself. Her cheeks glow pink and she scowls so prettily that he longs for nothing more to kiss it from her lips. 

"There's no need to be rude," she chides, sounding like the bossy girl he once knew, but her embarrassment is not so great to refuse the touch of his hand.

"You were wonderful," he tells her. "You have no reason to worry."

Her face softens and he squeezes her pruning fingers before letting them sink back into the bath. She stretches her arms above her head and he sees her breasts, slick and perfect, before they return to the water.

"Good," she says smugly. "I wanted it to be good.”

She smiles and then slides under the water, allowing her head to be fully shrouded. When she rises, her hair has started to come undone and she is more than enough to drown a whole fleet.

They are quiet around one another after that. He thinks desperately of things to talk about, but every topic of conversation is either too mundane or too steeped in the battles to come. His wife is not prone to fainting spells or fits of passion, but he doubts she’d still look at him as sweetly if he repeated anything His Imperial Majesty had told him in confidence.

He does not mind the quiet. But still it is nice when she finally breaks the silence.

“I didn’t think you were going to kiss me,” Rey says. Her voice is lowered like she is sharing some great secret and though he has no idea why; he cannot help but be intrigued.

“Why wouldn’t I kiss you?” He asks. “I’ve kissed you plenty of times before we were married.”

There was a time where he knew just how many times but he has since lost count. He has since decided that this is not a bad thing.

“I didn’t mean my mouth… I meant somewhere else,” she tells him and he’d laugh again if he wasn’t suddenly eager to feast on her once more.

He swallows a lump in his throat and his want must be obvious because she smiles widely at him with a grin that is almost wicked.

"Phasma said men don't like doing it," Rey tells him conspiratorially as though her breasts aren't glistening so beautifully under the water, as though he isn’t reliving the memory as they speak. "That they think it's demeaning."

Phasma has done her training all too well and he would be upset if he weren’t so grateful. 

"I didn’t think it was demeaning at all,” he tells her. “I wanted to do it.”

He doesn’t tell her about all the times he has thought of tasting her and even in his addled state, he is wise enough to realize such a revelation might be overwhelming when they’ve been married for less than a day.

He has no idea if others dream of their wives’ cunts. It feels like too intimate a thing to ask of the men who fight in his name. He’s never seen Hux, the only man close enough in age and rank to possibly be considered a peer, with a woman nor would he ever discuss such delicate matters with him if he had. Hux is a resource, nothing more. He wouldn’t understand something so… depraved.

"Well I’m glad you enjoyed it," Rey says matter-of-factly, she is pleased but rightfully so. "Because I liked it very much."

He takes her hand in his once more and kisses it, tasting the scented bath oil that lingers on her skin.

"Then I'll do it whenever you'd like, “ he says and she smiles. “As much as you want.”

“And what about you?” Rey asks, her eyes wide. She steals her hand from his lips and caresses his cheek.

"You can do whatever you'd like to me," he says, meaning it almost more than the previous day’s vows. “Anything at all.”

She smiles and he closes his eyes as he leans in for a kiss.

He expects the press of her mouth; instead she splashes him with her bathwater.

He makes a noise, something far too embarrassing by half, but she silences him with her lips.

“You said I could do anything,” she whispers smugly and he falls in love a little more.


End file.
